


The Kindness of Strangers

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filled for a prompt on the SPN Kink Meme.</p><p>Dean makes ends meet by kidnapping the kids of rich fat cats, and ransoming them for obscene amounts of money. It’s not honest work, but it helps him pay for Sam’s education (Stanford isn’t cheap) and he makes sure no one ever gets hurt. When he abducts college student Castiel though, things get complicated in a way they never have before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt @ http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/88941.html?thread=34885997#t34885997
> 
> WARNINGS - Past physical, verbal, and psychological abuse. References to alcoholism. 
> 
> A/N: Unfortunately I won't be continuing this fic any longer, but anyone who wishes to continue it is welcome to do so.

1755 Preston Street was quickly approaching.

Dean's hands clenched around the steering wheel, eyes flickering up to the rear view to check the scene one last time, before he took a deep breath and focused.

The scratchy wool of his stolen chauffeur uniform, taken from some dusty hotel porter's cupboard in a nearby hotel, was an almost unbearable distraction in the heat but actual professional chauffeurs didn't scratch at themselves like animals, right? They were supposed to be all well-trained and uptight. Dean would be damned if he jeopardised this last job because some spoilt snot-nosed kid thought he had lice.

He tried to shake off the anxious thoughts skittering around his head. No matter how many times he played this con - and it _was_ a con, he told himself firmly, not a real kidnapping when no one got a scratch and the only real consequences were a few million missing from a bank account that would hardly miss it - he was always nervous. Though, who wouldn't be? One wrong move and there was no way for things to end well for him.

That was why this would be the last one. Forever, he swore it. Sam wasn't far from finishing pre-Law now, which meant just one more year of astronomical school fees before he could start his degree proper, with the scholarship he was lined up for. Dean could pour any leftover cash into the last of Dad's gambling debts, and then they'd be home free.

Of course, all of that depended on him actually getting through the next two hours.

He almost drove straight past the apartment complex at first, until he realised the man standing with impeccable posture just outside the front door, with not a single security guard or butler or nanny in sight... was his target.

Castiel Roman looked more like a wax statue than a college junior with unfathomable amounts of money at his fingertips. Hell, if Dean thought he was uncomfortable under this ridiculous uniform, he couldn't imagine what it was like standing at military attention under the sun in a full suit-and-jacket and trench coat.

Billionaires were weird and their kids were even weirder.

He shrugged off his bewilderment and pulled up into the driveway, the usual script on his tongue as he rolled down the window to greet Castiel.

“Mr Roman, sorry for the late notice but your usual driver couldn’t make it,” he reeled off, “So I’ll be the one taking you to the airport today. Anything you need help with, let – ”

He never finished his sentence. Castiel only nodded at him, not condescendingly but more as if in a daze, and disappeared to the side of the car. The backseat door opened with a click and he slid inside the car without a word, carrying his suitcase in his arms.

“You want me to get that for you?” Dean asked, feeling – quite inexplicably, all things considered – like he’d been rude for not offering earlier.

“No, thank you.”

Dean tried not to cringe at the awkwardness that only he seemed to notice, and pulled away from the apartment block.

As they headed away, the back of Dean’s neck burned. He waited for the moment Castiel would realise something was wrong. It had to be any minute now. There was no way it could be this easy. Usually a lot more bullshitting about his qualifications was involved. Rich kids were spoilt and pampered, but they usually didn’t trust this easy.

But it was total silence.

Once they hit the highway, Dean began to relax and it was becoming nigh-impossible for him to hide the grin that threatened to show on his face.

This was the easiest abduction he’d ever pulled, without a doubt. The owner of Richard Roman Enterprises was practically handing his only son over on a silver platter! Castiel had waltzed straight into the car with barely a glance, let alone a security check, not even blinking at Dean’s replacement-chauffeur cover story. Dean could hardly believe his luck.

Even right now, Castiel was sitting with his eyes closed and head tilted back, not at all noticing that they were headed in the complete opposite direction to the airport – the same airport that he went to every weekend for meetings with his billionaire father, if Dick Roman’s hacked emails were to be believed.

Maybe having such vast amounts of money made people a little vague in the head. Who knew?

Unfortunately, as much as Dean wished he could keep up the peaceful charade… he had to get on with the plan.

He jerked the car to a stop in an alley, right beside where he’d parked the Impala, and silently slipped the gun out of his pocket, keeping a careful eye on Castiel’s face in the rear view mirror. The gun wasn't loaded, but no one needed to know that.

It took a second for Castiel to open his eyes. “Are we already – ”

Dean whipped around and pointed the gun straight between his eyes. “Sorry, no airport here. Don’t move.”

The way Castiel’s eyes widened as he froze, terror crossing his face, gave Dean no pleasure. He hated this part of the job, but he hadn’t come up with any better way to do it and if he had his way, he wouldn’t ever need to again after this.

“Hands up,” he prompted with a curl of his other hand, “Come on.”

Castiel did as he was told, fingers visibly shaking as he unclenched them from his luggage and held them up on either side of his head. “Don’t hurt me.”

“If you don’t do anything stupid, then I won’t,” Dean answered with as much conviction as he could manage – which was a fair bit, because he wouldn’t have been this _successful_ so far with mediocre acting. “I’m gonna take your suitcase, and you’ll stay right where you are, got it?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before pulling the suitcase away from Castiel’s lap and snapping it open on the passenger seat, keeping the gun trained carefully at the young man’s face. Castiel flinched and squeezed his eyes shut.

He began rifling through the suitcase, tossing a change of clothes at Castiel – god, this really was the easiest abduction ever; Castiel actually came with a _change of clothes_ – and leaving everything else abandoned. Who knew what kind of trackers were in there? It seemed like something a paranoid rich parent would have. Not that Dick Roman was, apparently, very paranoid at all.

Speaking of trackers, he turned back to Castiel. “Got your phone on you?”

Castiel nodded jerkily, eyes opening and wide again like a deer in headlights. “It’s in my pocket.”

“Call your father. And don’t try anything funny, got it? I know his number and I’m going to watch you dial it.”

Castiel pursed his lips and looked about to hesitate, until Dean raised his eyebrows and cocked the gun. That was all it took for Castiel to take his phone out and begin entering the numbers, screen up for Dean to watch while his fingers trembled so hard it had to be a difficult task.

Dean wasn’t a total monster. He felt like shit but this wasn’t the time to be feeling guilty. He could practically _taste_ the cash, for goodness’ sake. And Cas would be fine in the end, safe and sound at home in about two days flat without so much as a bruise.

Castiel finished dialling, but Dean stopped him before he pressed the call button. “Dude, you don’t even know what to say yet,” he scowled, “Do you really think I’m just gonna let you run your mouth off to daddy dearest like that?”

Cas’ eyes flicked away to the side. For a split-second, tension shot through Dean’s veins as if he’d done something wrong – well, _on top of_ abducting a man from his home and holding him for ransom – until he remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

“Here’s what you’re going to do. As soon as Dick picks up, you tell him you’ve been kidnapped, and he needs to pay two million each into these three accounts,” Dean paused to dig a list of numbers from the glove compartment, gun still trained on Cas, “He’s going to make it look like usual business for Roman Inc., and no police, or else who knows what’ll happen to you.”

Cas swallowed. Dean felt a little more incrementally shitty.

“No big conversation, you got it? Call, talk, and hang up,” he added, before gesturing at the phone for Castiel to start the call.

The dial tone rang. And rang. And rang.

It went on forever, long enough that anxiety was prickling on the back of Dean’s neck again. Shit, what if this was some kind of emergency phone? Dial something and the police come running, some kind of gimmick like that? He’d never seen anything like that yet, but then, Dick Roman was definitely one of the most independently wealthy targets he’d gone after.

Finally the sound stopped.

_“The number you have dialled is unavail – “_

Dean snatched the phone from Castiel’s hand in one rough movement and ended the call. “What the hell was that?” he demanded, paranoia taking over for a moment. “Kids like you don’t get ignored by their parents like that. What did you do?”

“Wait!” Castiel yelped, voice rough, holding his hands back up in surrender, “Let me call again. He must’ve been busy, he doesn’t like taking calls at work. I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

Dean took a deep breath, willing himself to get it together. Freaking out wasn’t going to do either of them any favours.

“Fine.” He handed the phone back after a moment and watched as Castiel redialled the number.

This time, the call went through. Almost immediately.

“Father, it’s – ” Castiel began, before he was cut off by what sounded to Dean like an unintelligible burst of static. Words, he realised a moment later. Jesus, what a time to be yelling at your kid.

It wasn’t the time to be feeling sorry for some (filthy rich) family, though. Dean raised the gun again in warning. Fuelled by the threat, Cas finally interrupted, voice shaking, “Father, please, I need to talk to you.”

The silence on the other end was so furious that, hell, even Dean felt a little fucking intimidated.

Cas took a breath, visibly composing himself. Dean almost wanted to yell, _hurry up and get this over with!_ He hated this part, but he didn't know any better way of contacting the parents and showing their children were alive without leaving a huge paper trail. For all he knew, they got false random demands all the time.

The words finally came out, all in a rush. To Castiel’s infinite credit he followed the script perfectly, down to the last detail, until all of Dean’s demands were stated. The moment he finished, he tore the phone away from his ear like it burned and ended the call.

Was that it? No crying or final declarations of familial love? No matter how nice Dean tried to be, there was usually a bit of a fight to end what (in his hostages’ minds) could have been the last words they ever spoke to each other.

Hell, if Dean had had that kind of chance to talk to his Dad before -–

But he wasn’t going to think about that.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Dean said after a pause, still a little incredulous at what had happened. “Now pass the phone over.”

Castiel did, hands still shaking as he passed the phone – some fancy new model, of course, which probably cost more than a whole month of Dean’ pay at the garage – across to Dean, who tossed it onto the open suitcase. No way was that coming with them.

“What are you going to do with me now?” Cas asked, quiet. “Kill me and take my father’s money?”

Dean blinked. What? Where had that come from?

“Yeah, sure. Bet you wish you said goodbye to your old man now, huh?” was what slipped out of his mouth, dripping with sarcasm and still inexplicably annoyed at the abrupt end to that phone call – and the unwanted memories it brought up, through no fault of Castiel’s.

Apparently it was a bad time to be joking, from the way Cas’ fists clenched and a look of pure terror washed over his face.

Dean lowered the gun for a moment and sighed.

“Fine, I’ll be serious.” He couldn’t believe he was saying this. No con-man in their right mind would ever reveal their plan so easily. But this time... Dean didn't know. Maybe it was the debacle on the phone, maybe it was Cas' staring messing with his head. “I’m not gonna do a thing to you. Not a hair on your head and all that, alright? I promise. I've done this before and it's always turned out fine. It’ll just be a few days at the most and if everything goes to plan, you’ll be home before you know it and I’ll be a few million richer. Pretend you're back in school, going on summer camp or something. Complete with overbearing supervisors and all.”

He watched Cas' face, looking for any sign of (hopefully) less fear, or (less hopefully) the beginnings of a plan to escape now that Dean had revealed his hand. There was nothing except the slight narrowing of Cas' eyes, the obvious suspicion that sat there like an accusation.

No luck, then. Dean couldn’t deny his relief that some of the tension had left Cas’ shoulders, though.

“Now, we’re gonna change cars, which means you’re going to walk over there with me, then sit down in the passenger seat and look pretty until I say so. Okay?” Dean went on, satisfied that he wouldn't be needing to chase Cas down the alleyway with a rag of chloroform in the next two minutes. He sent Castiel one last warning look, unsure how much good it would do now that he’d revealed he had no intention of carrying out any threats, before opening his door and stepping out.

To Castiel’s credit, he did exactly as Dean said, gaze never moving from its laser-focus straight at Dean. It was more than a little unnerving, but as long as the kid didn’t try to make a run for it, he could ignore it. He wasn't a mobster with a superiority complex. He just needed cash, and he could put up with a little staring to get it.

Dean bundled Cas into the passenger side of the Impala along with his spare clothes, with zipties tight around his ankles – a precaution, Dean explained with no small amount of guilt – and wiped everything down in the other car one last time to get rid of the bulk of the evidence. He wasn’t on police records anyway, through some miracle of fate, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Safely in the comfort of his Baby, a moment later they were rushing down another highway and for the first time that day he could breathe a little bit easier.

That was the hardest part of the con over.

He had the kid, he had the ransom demand, and he had Ash sitting on standby to manage the accounts with no questions asked. All he had to do now was keep an eye on Castiel and keep them hidden until he got his cash, and from there… well, the world would be his oyster.

The light at the end of the tunnel, the prize he’d kept his eyes on, was drawing close and he could practically taste it.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel did not trust Dean.

That should have gone without saying, since the man had just posed as his chauffeur, taken him hostage, and demanded his father pay six million dollars for his return. Not to mention, Dean was completely unpredictable, see-sawing between a sort of guilty sympathy – even going so far as to introduce himself and give Castiel an odd nickname, as if that would put him more at ease – and anxious ruthlessness, eager to get the job done.

But he still felt that the fact needed to be reaffirmed, even if only to himself. After all, how many people preferred being abducted by a dangerous criminal over going home to their family for a weekend? How many people thought _this_ was a better alternative to staying in a luxurious mansion with every possible material indulgence at hand?

Castiel did not trust Dean, but he could admit he still preferred Dean to his father.

Castiel rubbed at his ankles with one hand, trying to bring back circulation to his feet now that the zipties were gone, while he waited for Dean to return from purchasing food. His other wrist still dangled from the handcuff Dean had fastened to one of the bars at the headboard of the bed – something he would’ve protested much more if Dean hadn’t spent the entire time assuring him he wouldn’t be harmed.

It was more comfortable than being chained to a bathroom sink, at any rate.

He didn’t know why he was so calm about all this. Perhaps he’d used up all of his adrenaline already earlier in the day. Even before the chauffeur was due to arrive, he was already skittish about seeing Father again – pacing his apartment, checking over and over that he had everything in impeccable order, making sure he could account for every penny he’d been allowed over the last week, even reciting the ‘lessons’ he’d been given the previous visit, as if it would change anything. Then, discovering he’d been kidnapped and being forced to make that phone call in the alleyway…

He’d almost been more afraid of speaking to his own father on the phone than getting a bullet in his skull.

He pulled his legs up and rested his chin on his knees, tugging at the handcuff with little strength behind the movement. The chain rattled, the sound abrupt and loud in the silence of the empty house.

According to Dean it’d been more or less abandoned by its owners, until he set it up as a safe-house of sorts. The perfect place to hide the kidnapped son of a multimillionaire, Castiel supposed. No one would be visiting out of the blue, and no one would be calling the police about suspected squatters either. If there was ever a place someone could go to disappear, this would be it.

His heart thumped hard in his chest. He turned the thought over in his mind.

He could really do it. Disappear. Get away from his father, Richard Roman Enterprises, all of it. This was the first time in his life that man didn’t know his exact location, or have people watching his every move in some form, every minute of the day. The only person on the planet who knew where Castiel was, was Dean. It was perfect.

Before he knew it, he was already planning.

He knew it was utterly ridiculous to even consider going through with this idea. There was so much that could go wrong, from getting murdered to being discovered by the police to simply being sent home after these few days of freedom. But he had to try. This could be his only opportunity to get out of his father’s clutches, and it was better than spending the rest of his life wishing he’d taken it.

The more he thought about it, the more he knew this was the only path he could let himself take.

It would be best if he could get away on his own, but it was too unlikely, knowing how much experience Dean had kidnapping. There was no way he could escape like that. But maybe if he could explain to Dean directly, there was a possibility –

Castiel was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of the front door opening, followed by keys rattling and Dean’s heavy boots echoing down the hall.

“Cas? I’m back!” he called, “Bet you’re hungry!”

Unpredictable, again. Dean’s cheerfulness and his insistence on acting like everything was as normal as ever made no sense. Surely it would have been a better strategy to keep Castiel scared for his life, as before. All of this friendliness was so bizarre he had to think it was motivated by guilt.

 _Has that temperament really ever_ _made your hostages feel better about being here?_ The question was on the tip of his tongue, but he knew better than to say it out loud. He did have some survival instincts.

Dean appeared in the doorway, the door having long since been torn off its hinges by unknown past tenants. “Here we are!” he grinned as he piled paper bags onto the wooden bedside table. “Burgers, fries, and coke. Practically a banquet, hey?”

Castiel simply watched as Dean moved. The food smelled amazing. He hadn’t had self-indulgent fast food in such a long time, and his mouth was watering. His stomach was grumbling, after having not eaten since dinner last night, and now his favourite food was being dangled in front of him. But he told himself again: he didn’t, _couldn’t,_ trust Dean. The wrappers didn’t look like they’d been tampered with, but that didn’t mean much.

“Come on. You really don’t want to eat?”

Castiel’s eyes flickered up to Dean’s, trying to keep his face neutral. But something must have shown, because Dean sighed and picked up one of the burgers. He unwrapped it, made a show of letting Castiel see what was inside, and took a huge bite before handing it over.

“Here. No funny stuff, see? It’s real good. Probably not what you’re used to, but the common peasants like it.”

Castiel awkwardly took the bun from Dean one-handed while Dean made the same show of drinking soda from the paper cup. “Hope you don’t mind cooties,” he grinned.

“I am not a child, Dean,” he shot back before his mind caught up with what his mouth was saying and he flinched out of instinct. “I apologise. I didn’t mean to say that. It was impolite of me.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. Dean had been patient with him so far and here he was, pushing his luck as always. He knew exactly what Father would be saying if he were here.

Dean gave him another funny look and put the drink down, still well within Cas’ reach. “As far as rudeness goes, I think you’re entitled to say what you want at this point. Considering the, uh, situation I put you in.”

Instead of answering, Castiel turned his attention back to his food. He eked out what remained of his burger and folded the wrapper into a neat square, more out of nervous habit than anything else. Dean obviously wasn’t angry, or getting nervous enough to edge towards violence as he was earlier in the day. In fact, he seemed quite… tolerant, at the moment, so Castiel tried to let himself relax a little.

“Still, if you’re worried about your etiquette or something,” Dean went on, “I’ve gotta tell you, you’re miles better than the other rich kids I’ve had around. You know some of them wouldn’t even touch the kind of food you’re eating right now? I can’t say much for Dick Roman but I can say he brought you up pretty well.”

Castiel almost bit his tongue in half. Suddenly he wasn’t so hungry any more.

Dean couldn’t have known, of course, but it was a perfect echo of everything Father’s colleagues and staff always said to him. Sometimes they were honestly oblivious; sometimes he _knew_ they knew everything that was happening. The comments were always accompanied by a hard squeeze to his shoulder from Father, half a performance and half a warning to keep in line lest he return home to another punishment. Was it any wonder he behaved himself in public?

Dean didn’t seem to notice the abrupt loss of appetite. He did, however, notice that the burger was gone and shook the packet of fries in Cas’ direction, simply shrugging when Cas refused them.

“Righty-o, then. Hope you enjoyed your lunch. I’m going to check on those bank accounts, but you need anything, just give me a shout. Who knows, you might be back home sooner than you think.” Dean gathered up the wrappers and tossed them back into the empty takeout bag. He was about to turn and leave, but something possessed Castiel to speak up out of impulse.

“I’m not going home.” The words were bold and confident; he only wished he felt the same.

That stopped Dean in his tracks. Castiel braced himself for whatever might follow, muscles tensed.

“What do you mean, not going home?” Dean spun around, brows wrinkled. Castiel could almost see his thoughts trying to wrap around what had been said. He opened his mouth to explain – not that he knew what he would say – but Dean beat him to it, holding a hand up to stop him. “I’ve told you, Cas, and I don’t care how many times I have to say it. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re going home, all in one piece, completely unharmed. Swear on my life.”

“That’s not what I meant. I won’t – I’m not going home.” This time his voice was less clear. Halfway through his sentences, he realised he didn’t have the telepathic power to push his thoughts directly into someone else’s head.

Dean raised his eyebrows and held his hands out, palms up, the very picture of agitated confusion. “Mind spelling that out for me?”

“I need your help. You said you’ve done this before, but you obviously haven’t been caught. I know stories, too, about people who go missing and are never found. If no one knows who you are, or where I am, then even if you – ” He could feel the frustration brewing in his chest, the ideas that sat in his mind but refused to come out in coherent sentences. Even as he spoke he could hear his father’s impatience. _Don’t stutter, you idiot, and speak properly or you won’t speak at all. I won’t have a son that sounds like a halfwit every time he opens his mouth._ “I’m sorry. Let me try again. I’m not making sense.”

“Yeah, you really aren’t,” Dean grumbled, but instead of anger Castiel only saw mild exasperation. He strode over to sit on the bed, springs squealing under his added weight. “You need my help with… what, exactly?”

Castiel swallowed, sensing the sobriety of the situation, and tried to pick his words carefully. “Running away from home.”

There was a moment of quiet, before Dean burst into hysterical laughter.

“Running away from home?” Dean repeated, “What do you think this is, some teenage feel-good movie about the wonder of love and family? Come on, Cas. I’m trying to be nice but I’m not a total idiot.”

“This isn’t a joke!” Castiel shouted over the laughing, feeling his future slipping out of his fingers already. He _had to_ make sure Dean understood. He couldn’t go home – not after spending over twenty years under his father’s thumb and _finally_ , through some stroke of fate, being given a way to leave. But for all he knew, the ransom had already been paid within hours and the minute Dean left to check, everything would be over.

Still wiping his eyes, Dean got to his feet and headed for the doorway. Forgetting the cuff around his wrist, Castiel almost dislocated his elbow in a desperate attempt to follow, and the resulting clanging was so loud it rang through the whole house.

Dean looked over his shoulder, stunned for a moment.

There was no time to waste. Castiel was still wincing through the pain in his wrenched arm when he continued.

“I’m not asking for the impossible. When this is over, just don’t take me back to that apartment. That’s all.” The irony of asking his kidnapper _not_ to take him home was not lost on him. He was certain it would have been an easy choice for Dean; surely this alternative had to be safer than attempting to take Castiel back to a neighbourhood that would likely soon be swarming with security guards and the media, if not undercover police too.

Dean’s lips drew into a thin line. “No.”

“Please.” Castiel could see he was still thinking about it, and all he had to do was encourage those thoughts towards the affirmative. “You have to listen to me. My father isn’t always the great man you see reciting niceties on television. You don’t know what he can be like. He’s…” Again the words wouldn’t come out. His tongue felt like a leaden dead weight in his mouth, with the memory of all the other occasions he’d tried to ask for help. All the power of his logical mind couldn’t erase the panic clawing at his stomach at the thought of this conversation being somehow discovered. He had to struggle through his next words. “You can’t take me home.”

There was hesitation in Dean’s eyes, in the way they flickered back and forth over Castiel’s face. Dean had proven himself a fair man so far, occupational choices aside. Perhaps he was not quite a shining beacon of morality, but he had more than enough of a conscience to keep his captives from real harm. That was what Castiel was banking on.

“The hell? Dude, you’re a grown-ass man. You live alone. You see your old man, like, once a week.”

“And yet he still manages to make my life a misery!” he snapped, urgency finally getting the better of him. “I have to get away from him, and I need your help, because you are the _only_ one who will help me.”

The rising conflict on Dean’s face could have meant anything, but Castiel couldn’t stop the hope bubbling in his chest. He waited, heart hammering. He wished more than anything that he could read minds, that he could know what he had to say to make Dean agree.

Eventually the hesitation on Dean’s face bled away. But not in the way Castiel had hoped – prayed – for.

“The answer’s still no.”

All the air rushed out of Castiel’s lungs in an instant.

“I can’t do it, Cas. You don't know how this works. I’ve got a brother to look after, a debt the size of the sun, and about a thousand mobsters on my ass. I can’t lose six million dollars and get myself killed in a manhunt for a kid I’ve known for a day. Your family might not be calling the feds yet, but I can tell you for a fact that they will when they lose all that money and you’re still not back at home. And then what? I'll be locked up for the rest of my life and you'll be hauled straight back to your family the moment someone recognises you from the back of a milk carton. It's useless.”

Dean shook his head and scrubbed at his hair. He bit his lip but continued, voice harsh this time. “And besides, for all I know, you could just be some spoilt brat trying to leave home just because daddy yelled at you for crashing a Ferrari or eating all the goddamned caviar. I'm not putting my neck on the line for someone like that.”

Castiel could only gape at him, unable to believe his ears. It was one thing not to help him, but to accuse him of _lying_ \--

“I’m sorry, Cas. but there’s nothing I can do. After you go home, ask someone else.” Dean’s teeth were clenched, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, no longer meeting Castiel’s eyes. He didn’t give Castiel a single moment to react; he simply turned and walked back out of the room.

No. No way. That couldn’t be the end of it.

Castiel wanted to scream. Instead he only clenched his fist until his nails dug deep enough into his palm to draw blood, and punched the mattress with all his strength. It didn’t do a thing to stop his despair.

Of course Dean wouldn’t help him. Of _course_ Dean thought he was another pampered, coddled child whining about his father being a responsible parent; he obviously knew all about what the lives of the privileged and wealthy were like, after all. Why had Castiel been stupid enough to think Dean would believe him? Why hadn’t he just spat out what his father did to him, instead of letting his cowardice get the better of him?

He’d been right. He shouldn’t have trusted Dean.

It didn’t matter. His mind was made up. Dean could drag Castiel kicking and screaming to his own front door but he would never go home, no matter what he had to do.


End file.
